8-19 Salt Lick creek, peace without cellular and writing

A quick note: I’ve been off-line for a good while thanks to camping in areas with little to no cellular signal. One of the benefits? More writing in my notebook journal.

I have a pile of notes to catch up on and type into the computer for this here blog so you’ll likely see ’em spilling through soon (as long as I have a good connection and desire to be on a computer).

These notes will be backdated to when they were written to stay with the flow.

I’m at this sprawling campground far larger than what I’m used to. It’s beautiful in some kind of way like a perfectly maintained subdivision of campsites with wide, sweeping lawns and hulking big rigs everywhere. Like any Americana neighborhood — there’s people milling out ’n about, tending to their BBQ grills (one prodigious camper hauled his own huge grill behind his rig) and parties plopped into circled lawn chairs and beers in hands. Kids darting here and there, tiny dogs yapping and gnawing (and pooping all over).

It’s so strange to be ensconced in all this in the middle of nowhere where there’s no cell signal to be had.

Suburbia implanted in a pocket of wilderness.

Each time I walk around the campground I feel like an alien out of place in my tiny camper and wild, rustic spirit.

It is what it is — I’m glad to at least see people experiencing nature even if sanitized and mowed over. Often in these areas it’s the only camping to be had.

I lucked out snagging one of the last waterfront campsites left here and I can see why — it’s one of the few scraggly, untamed parts of the campground with rambling trees and vines yarned all over. To get to the water I had to machete my way through — just how I like it.

It’s like being in a womb of green with smatterings of life — a box turtle who stopped by for a visit, squirrels flaying themselves from tree to tree and all sorts of birds that visit my little oasis tucked away from civilization.

As the sun sets over the river I’m able to witness its pink and orange beauty over the valley beyond through a hole in the greenery.

And so it is.

Being in an area with no cellular coverage brings remarkable peace. The noise in and out of my head is gone, no more constant chitter and chatter. Just blessed silence.

Deep, deep silence — the kind that sinks into my bones akin to a spiritual moment.

Smart phones and civilization seem to disconnect us from ourselves. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt this kind of silence and it’s a balm for the soul.

It’s ironic that to reconnect to ourselves we must disconnect from the world.

I keep looking for something creative to do with sustained effort (and possibly make a living at) - painting, drawing/sketching, photography, etc. etc. Yet deep down I know my strongest talent is in writing.

And yet I always seem to run from it. Maybe it’’s because it takes the most effort yet it’s the easiest for me to do.

Writing does require a shifting of consciousness and a slowing down and often I don’t think I have (more like want) the time or energy to slip into that mode.

There could be other more subtle reasons such as facing myself and my mind and whatever lies within.

Maybe it’s simply sheer laziness?

Nonetheless I shall take the plunge yet again and see where it goes.